


Duty

by GarbagePlanet



Category: Alien: Covenant
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarbagePlanet/pseuds/GarbagePlanet
Summary: Walter and Daniels share an intimate moment before continuing on to Origae-6.





	Duty

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends I come bearing gifts (the gift is poorly written very indulgent robot pornography)
> 
> AU where the ending didn't happen lol
> 
> I want a sweet space hoodie and a soft robot boyfriend
> 
> There is a brief reference to David's assault on Daniels if that is triggery

  
Tennessee announces he will observe the last part of Mother's reboot and ensure her total functionality. That leaves Daniels to help Walter with making the necessary preparations for the two remaining human crewmembers to re-enter hypersleep. The two of them work in companionable silence as the pods are prepped with the necessary intravenous fluids to keep the occupants both alive and asleep for the journey. Daniels is a capable assistant, of course, starting the mechanical aspects of the pod’s diagnostics when chemical preparations are complete, and it chimes in response.  
  
“What do you think Origae-6 will be like?” she asks, removing a hypersleep suit from its container, examining it for wear. Walter glances up from finishing a minute repair on the second pod to watch her, keying in the final diagnostic sequence as he shuts the panel. The correct answer is that the planet has Earth-standard gravity, a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, and a complex biosphere that has been tested and found compatible with human immune and digestive systems, but this is data from surveys Daniels conducted herself. These are things she already knows.  
  
Still, he always prefers -- or is programmed -- to ask for clarification rather than make an incorrect assumption, and Daniels is more receptive than most to his queries. “You're asking for a personal assessment?”  
  
She nods. Walter takes advantage of the longest possible socially acceptable pause to formulate his answer. He notices Daniels leaves the suit on the lid of the container, moves closer to him as she waits for his reply. Her body language is a contradictory mix between nervousness and calm, an emotional expression he is unable to identify.  
  
“Your team’s surveys have found it a planet ideal for colonization efforts,” he says, “The probe images have confirmed it is a world rich in resources and natural beauty. Based on this data, I think it will make a fine colony.” Another, better term occurs to him.  
  
“A fine _home_ ,” he amends. It’s odd he didn’t find the word sooner, while he was speaking. He finds via a quick diagnostic that most of his subroutines are focused on trying to interpret her approach, the anxious shifting she performs, her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth.  
  
“A good place for a cabin by the lake?”  
  
She's very close now, well past socially appropriate personal space. He does not mind, but the observation is highlighted as particularly important for subsequent social interactions.  
  
“Of course,” he answers, though there is no data available for him to know this. His voice is quiet. It doesn’t need to be any louder, with the little space left that separates them. He can feel the heat of her body from this distance, warm and reassuring.  
  
Daniels smiles, delicate and gentle, a rare and fragile thing. It wavers at the corners. She leans in closer, closes the scant gap that remains between them, and then she presses her lips to his.  
  
It's different than it was with David, though that's likely because he has a protocol series for when this happens with humans instead of with another synthetic. Her hands are warm when they frame his face in an additional gesture of unexpected intimacy, and she's surprisingly enthusiastic for what psychological data tells him is an act merely seeking base physical comfort and reassurance.  
  
She pulls away slowly, eyelids fluttering.  
  
“I'm sorry,” she whispers, sounding mortified and ducking her gaze when he quirks his head in nonverbal question. “That was...I shouldn't have --”  
  
Ah. Realization clicks. “Daniels,” he tells her, putting his hand over hers, running his thumb over her knuckles, “I can't reciprocate unless specifically asked to.”  
  
Her eyes are wide with surprise when she looks back up to meet his, a slight flush coloring her pale skin.  
  
“Do you want to?” she asks, softly, and it's his turn to be surprised. But Daniels has always been kind, always looked at him as she would a human rather than a tool, and so his answer is an easy one to give.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She smiles again, and again he finds it oddly compelling. “Please do.”  
  
He brings them back together, his mouth pressing firmly against hers, hand secure around her waist, his damaged arm pressing gently at her back. This part of his functionality is new to him, untested. He worries that this attempt to physically reassure her that he did, indeed, want to offer her the comfort she desires is too aggressive, too much. But Daniels melts against him with a long, blissful sigh, and he finds his concerns unfounded.  
  
Her arms wrap around his neck and she angles her head to kiss him harder, more insistently. There's a strong intensity in the sparking contact of their lips as they meet again and again, sensory information he welcomes to ensure that her experience will be a satisfactory one. It's something social interaction processing analysis cites as evidence she finds him attractive, which is curious. His model looks nothing like that of the late Captain Jacob Branson, and he doesn't possess advanced socialization protocols to be considered charming, yet there's something Daniels apparently finds appealing.  
  
He will have to ask her later.  
  
The enthusiasm of her response is encouraging, and indicates she would appreciate additional advances. Walter moves his mouth from her lips to press a series of kisses down her jaw, trailing to the soft flesh of her neck. She moans, low, fingernails scraping against his scalp when he applies suction -- her entire body tenses and she gasps when he grazes her with his teeth.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Walter stops instantly, withdraws from her neck. Daniels doesn't move away. Her breathing is labored and the empathetic aspects of this particular set of his programming kicks in so his becomes so as well. Even though he has no need for air, it feels appropriate, for the two of them to breathe like this, together. Daniels pulls away, but not far, arms dropping to take fistfuls of his shirt, her face pressed up against his chest. He runs his remaining hand soothingly over her short hair. She's trembling. Walter is more than content to wait.  
  
Her voice is a breathy whisper when she finally speaks. “Walter, can -- can you…?”  
  
She falters. Though the information is incomplete, natural language parsing and contextual indicators paint a clear picture of what she is trying to ask.  
  
“Not as a particular programmed specialty,” he tells her, and she huffs what he belatedly identifies as a small laugh, “but I am capable, yes.”  
  
“But will it…” She bites her bottom lip. “Will you like it, Walter?”  
  
An intriguing question, one he isn't sure how to answer without a previous experience to draw from. He also is uncertain why this is a concern. Calling up data on the subject suggests that it is very possible that Daniels is an individual aroused, even satisfied, by her sexual partner's own pleasure. It suits her, he thinks, to be selfless, even in this.  
  
The act will provide her physical comfort and relaxation to help her through her recent trauma, ease her return to hypersleep. He is capable and willing. There is nothing for them to do otherwise until the pods have completed their final diagnostics and test cycles and Mother's reboot is done. Walter can see no disadvantages.  
  
“I think I will,” he says. Daniels raises her head up to meet his gaze.  
  
“Good,” she murmurs. Her eyes search his face, though he isn't sure what she hopes to find there. “That's--that's good.” Her throat constricts around a hard swallow. “Walter, would you...would you please…?”  
  
“Yes.” He presses a small kiss to her forehead in an attempt to reaffirm his assent, and Daniels sighs heavily in relief.  
  
He leaves her, briefly, to press the door controls to lock them in, and he trusts Tennessee to acknowledge the tacit request for privacy. Daniels is upon him as soon as he turns back to face her, fierce and hungry as she deepens their kisses, licking eagerly at his lips until he allows her in. Their tongues slide together as he responds in kind, wet heat that Daniels somehow makes primal and tender. A stimulus threshold is reached, coaxing out a low noise he's never made before. It's unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome, as it seems to encourage Daniels further.  
  
She parts them long enough to begin to pull her shirt over her head, and he assists as best he can. Her brasserie quickly follows, falling onto the floor near her discarded shirt, her pale breasts exposed to the harsh, artificial light. She looks smaller, somehow, vulnerable and delicate, but there's no fear in her posture, an entrancing boldness behind her eyes when she looks at him. He cups her, gently, with his lone hand, brushing his fingers over her nipple until it grows taut. He pays careful attention to the little shivers and soft, strained noises she makes at his touch. Having both hands available would make a significant improvement, and while Walter cannot create, he can certainly improvise. He leans down to take her other breast into his hot, wet mouth and she cries out in a manner that he finds quite satisfying, her arms wrapping around him for support as her knees buckle beneath her.  
  
His tongue swirls around one nipple before moving to the other, holding Daniels securely with his hand as she clutches at him. She moans as he continues his ministrations, then he kisses between her breasts and up her throat, back to her hungry mouth.  
  
“You,” Daniels whispers, pulling them apart and tugging at the hem of his shirt. Walter obeys, stripping it off with her help and balling it neatly before dropping it to the floor. Her eyes rove over him, and she hesitates for a moment before placing a tentative hand on the synthetic muscles of his abdomen. They tighten in response, and he can feel the small indents on the pads of her fingertips on his skin.  
  
She seems to want to try and touch every inch of him, hands splaying and moving up to his neck, over his shoulders, then back down his chest to his stomach. The contact is nice, very satisfying -- and then Daniels drops her hand below his waist.  
  
He's fully erect, having reached that particular sensory threshold earlier, and Daniels hisses when she feels him through the fabric. Contact there is something different entirely: sensation strong enough to make him pause trying to process it. Her fingers are shaking when she moves to remove his pants, peeling the underwear down with them. She stares at him for a long moment, exposed as he is before her, and when she meets his gaze again, there’s a dark intensity behind her eyes that sends a heated pulse through every inch of him.  
  
Contact without touch. That’s something entirely new, something he finds simultaneously fascinating and strange. He runs a quick diagnostic, somewhat alarmed, but everything reports back functioning as intended, his reaction an available programmed response to the stimulus.  
  
Nothing in the code of his programming had indicated sexual activity would be anything like this. Everything is more intense than he had assumed it would be, heady, almost overwhelming physical sensations fusing with puzzling, nearly hindering subroutine demands that are fixated entirely on Daniels: her position, her responses, her posture, her eyes.  
  
Daniels curls her fingers around his length carefully, strokes him long and languidly, staring at him, likely trying to gauge his reaction. She seems pleased by the throaty groan her actions pull from him, the rock of his pelvis in time with her movements as she minutely tightens her grip, speeds up her strokes. He is tempted, briefly, to manually lower the sensitivity of his receptors, but it would be unfair to Daniels, to make her think that her actions have little effect when the exact opposite is true. Every second of her touch is brilliant and debilitating, parts of him stopping completely so he can have additional power to process every rolling wave of sensation.  
  
It is too much, too quickly, and it is distracting him from assisting her. Walter reaches out, his hand closing around her wrist. “Daniels.” There’s strain in his voice, likely from the many borrowed processing cycles still sending residual signals. She stops, her tongue darting out over her bottom lip, and she asks him, in a tense, husky whisper, “Where?”  
  
A horizontal surface is what his programming tells him is the typical setting, but Walter recalls David, his body trapping Daniels beneath him, and immediately decides against it. The crew’s hypersleep chamber is small, but there is a storage area, just below waist-high shelving against the hull, and Walter nods towards it. She grasps the idea, leading him over by the hand. She jumps up to sit on it, hooking her thumbs around her pants and underwear and dragging them down her legs. Walter removes them completely from her ankles, and she pulls him into a new series of searing, needy kisses. They both groan loudly when their hips meet and grind together. She is hot and so slick there’s little resistance when he enters her in one smooth, easy motion, and he holds Daniels close when she gasps, clawing at him with wild fingers.  
  
Walter brings his hand against her damp curls, his thumb pressing at top of her narrow slit. Daniels cries out, her head lolling back, and his fingers work against her, unhurried and precise. She starts to move her hips -- a blinding burst of sensation nearly causes him to falter, but he doesn’t stop, thrusting slowly, gently in time with the pressure of her legs against his waist.  
  
Daniels is loud, unabashed, mewling and moaning with the same breath. It’s emboldening, encouraging, clear instruction to continue, to go further. His hips reach a quick rhythm, his fingers caressing her more insistently, harder.  
  
It isn’t long until her cries reach a new, desperate pitch; she sobs brokenly, eyes squeezing shut -- and there it is, her tightening around him, her body shuddering violently, a tremendous, shivering completion. He slows his thrusts, but does not stop them. She kisses him, even without her full breath back, body trembling with aftershocks and she moans into his mouth.  
  
“Walter.” Her voice is so quiet. If he had been human he wouldn't have been able to hear her. “Walter, please --”  
  
He hits the final sensory threshold.  
  
Even with what he has experienced so far, the intensity of this sensation takes him by surprise, perhaps designed to give authenticity to his startled groan. He thinks that there is some error, a miscalibration, in the strength of the live current that arcs sharply up his spine, the full-body shudder as synthetic muscles abruptly go from straining to a state of near-complete relaxation. He feels the pulse of fluid release from him and into her: a finishing touch to make someone believe the experience was just as genuine as the real thing. Daniels must also feel it, because she reaches for him, holds him, strokes his hair and murmurs wordless encouragement through the uncontrolled spasms. The feeling of reaching this, the final threshold of what he is able to physically feel, is closer to pain than anything else: it is drowning in a loop of feel-interpret-feel, caught in a long cycle of processing every minute input brought to its maximum capacity. He wonders if it is a close approximation to what a human would experience.  
  
Walter moves as soon as he trusts he is able to reliably, as Daniels's position cannot be a comfortable one for an extended period of time. He removes himself from her, gently as he can, though Daniels still hisses as they separate. Walter regards her, sweaty and flushed, her short hair wild and sticking to her face. She is smiling and Walter finds himself returning it without realizing it, tucking the largest errant strand of her hair back behind her ear.  
  
“Um, thank you,” she says, once her breathing is even again, wiping the sweat from her eyes. She seems reluctant to look at him as she slides off the table.  
  
“Gratitude isn't necessary, Daniels,” he tells her.  
  
He notices her legs are still trembling, slightly, as she walks towards him to take her shirt and a medical sanitation wipe back from his waiting hand. She sucks in a breath as she cleans and then begins dressing herself, pulling the shirt over her head and stepping into her pants, and as he starts to pull his own uniform back on, Daniels turns to assist him.  
  
“Was the experience satisfactory?” Walter asks. Daniels looks up at him in surprise.  
  
“Are you fishing for compliments, Walter?” she says. Her voice suggests she is amused.  
  
“Not at all. Observational data indicated that you likely found the experience a physically satiating one --” Daniels flushes brightly, “-- but I wanted to know if it provided you psychological reassurance.”  
  
“It did,” she says, tugging at her shirt to ensure that it settles as it is supposed to. She meets and then immediately avoids his eyes. He inclines his head, hoping the gesture would prompt her to explain without needing to verbalize it; the question made her anxious, judging from her body language. But Daniels does not answer, and so Walter does not press, nodding in acknowledgement and unlocking the room.  
  
Tennessee arrives exactly three minutes after Walter unlocks the doors, and even if his glances between Daniels and Walter are awkward, he doesn’t voice any concerns. In fact, he even coughs politely and mumbles an offer to be placed into cryo first, apparently intending to extend the privacy between them a little longer. It takes little time for Walter to place Tennessee into the pod and start the hypersleep procedure with Daniels’s help. The pod chimes to indicate the successful delivery of the necessary pharmaceuticals to keep Tennessee safely asleep for the remainder of their journey to Origae-6.  
  
Daniels is still slightly red-faced from earlier when she lies down in the pod, but her medical examination indicates all is well. She holds his hand as he begins the process to start the intravenous fluids, holds it as long as she can, until she begins to drift off.  
  
“Sleep well, Daniels,” he tells her. She smiles.  
  
“See you soon,” Daniels whispers, and the lid closes over her.  
  
Seven years, Walter remembers, with an unfamiliar sensation that he finds troubling but not worth a diagnostic, it will be seven years until he hears her voice again.  
  
He will wait. It is, after all, his duty.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr before someone let me know I destroyed the Walter/Daniels tag on mobile because I don't know how computers work.


End file.
